Know your Customer

I have spent most of my life working with my family so it is only natural that a lot of what I have learned is from them. In my middle years, I learned or should say I was taught some pretty good lessons from friends, and customers as well. Although some were good and others bad, they were often great life lessons. These days I learn from my kids and grandkids more than any other source. I have stories I can tell and I have stories that I cannot tell, that came from both my kids and grandkids. And no, don’t ask me about the ones I cannot tell.

The following is a story I have told hundreds of times about my Grandpa (Carl) Thomas. For those that never knew or don’t remember him much, you may think that this is a made-up story. Believe me, although I may not have the exact dollar amounts right, this story is true to the best of my memory.

From birth until the age of 13 I was raised and worked at the family salvage yard. I can still remember the salvage yard in Syracuse KS although I was only 3 or 4 years old. That is where my first memories of my dad and Grandpa Thomas began. When I was ready to start Kindergarten, we moved back to Cimarron where dad once again helped manage Cimarron Iron and Metal with Grandpa. Cimarron Iron and Metal was on the west side of Cimarron, on the north side of the highway, just north across the highway form the John Deere dealership which my family owned and operated for 47 years. In later years, the salvage yard was cleaned up and we used that lot for used equipment for the John Deere dealership. For many years we would move all of the equipment and let the county have a carnival during the fair on that lot.

Sometimes we called it the junkyard, but when Grandpa would hear us say that he would always correct us that it was a salvage yard. It really was a salvage yard and not a junkyard. Lots of old tractors, cars and many piles of metal scattered all over the place. We had iron piles that would be stacked up as high as we could throw the junked metal. The iron had to be cut in pieces no longer than two feet. We had piles of cast, brass, copper, aluminum, etc. and rows of good iron that we would sell by the piece or pound. The metals in these piles brought more money.

One of those piles consisted of what we called pot metal*. As I recall, pot metal was a combination of aluminum and other metals; perhaps brass or copper. I just don’t know for sure. One of these piles of pot metal had mechanical parts. I don’t know what they were used for, but they looked a bit like a carburetor but probably more like a valve for cars and/or tractors.

At 8 or 9 years of age, I was allowed to work on Saturday mornings with Grandpa Thomas. He did not work me hard and the pay was fantastic. At noon, Grandpa would give me a quarter and I would head home. The quarter was a big deal in those days. The downtown movie cost 20 cents for admission and you could buy a candy bar for a nickel. I always hated it that pop and popcorn cost 10 cents, but the candy bar was a pretty darned good deal.

One Saturday morning Grandpa and I were piddling around and an old farmer came in with a pot metal piece in his hand. He was wearing coveralls and was dirty. You could tell he had been working hard. He asked if we had one like he was holding as it was not working. Grandpa and I walked around to the back of the shop to the pot metal pile. Grandpa kicked around in it a bit and found one just like the old farmer had. He picked it up and threw the old one back in the pile. We went back out and the farmer wanted to know what it cost? Grandpa looked at it a bit and said a buck and a quarter. The farmer squirmed a bit and looked over the part. He said “that’s a lot of money, but I have to have it”, reached in his front pocket and got out his coin purse. It was one of those rubber containers that you squeezed to open. He dug around and pulled out the money. Grandpa then pulled out his rubber purse and put the money in.

A couple of weeks later the same thing happened. This time the guy wasn’t a farmer and was dressed in better and clean work clothes. He had what I thought was the same part the old farmer had bought. Grandpa and I went behind the shop to the pot metal pile and he started kicking it around again. He found one just like this guy had brought in. He picked it up and threw the old one back in the pile. We went back out and handed it to the guy. He glanced at it and asked how much? Grandpa told him three bucks. The guy said, “man, that is a lot of money, but I need it”. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out his billfold and gave Grandpa three bucks. Grandpa reached in his back pocket and pulled out his billfold and put the bills in. I think that is the first time I ever knew Grandpa had a billfold.

After the guy drove off, I was pretty curious. I asked Grandpa why he only charged the first guy a buck and a quarter but this guy three bucks? He said “son, that old farmer could only afford a buck and a quarter; this guy could afford three bucks”. He went on to say “SON, YOU GOTTA KNOW YOUR CUSTOMER”.

I suppose over the years I have used this tactic, but back in the early ’50s, it was just a different time, especially at the Salvage Yard. Then it was the normal thing to do. Although I always tried my best to price things the same to all customers, I have always remembered this lesson. Son, you gotta know your customer!!

Pete.

*Pot metal—also known as monkey metal, white metal, or die-cast zinc—is a colloquial term that refers to alloys of low-melting point metals that manufacturers use to make fast, inexpensive castings.